


and the last thing we need is another broken clock

by bitter_sweetie25



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, I dont know how to tag things, Immortality, On the Run, Urban Fantasy, connor and ty r only there for a second i apologize, for like . a couple sentences, i guess ?, implied blood/injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28398522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitter_sweetie25/pseuds/bitter_sweetie25
Summary: your name is tommy, and you're twelve years old. you've been twelve years old for a long time.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & TommyInnit, No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, in the last part at least
Comments: 10
Kudos: 144





	and the last thing we need is another broken clock

**Author's Note:**

> title is from our aftermath by phemiec . yes its a homestuck fansong . shut up
> 
> alternate summary: local child overcompensates to protect people he cares about but cannot fathom being protected by people who care about him  
> this is a reupload ! i posted this before under the same title but this has been edited a bit

your name is tommy, and you're twelve years old. you've been twelve years old since you found a backpack with a weird symbol on it. (you still don't know what the symbol means, but it's been nearly five years and you're still twelve. you're starting to put the pieces together.) you’ve also been on your own since before you found the backpack. people in the towns you stop at don’t like kids like you who just want a bread loaf or something. they think you’re trying to steal from them, but it’s all bullshit. (well, you are paying for food with stolen money, but that’s really besides the point. it’s their fault for not watching their wallets anyways.)

* * *

your name is tommy, and you’re tired of running. winter’s soon - every step you take you almost slip on dead leaves again. you stop in a town you don’t catch the name of and, again, you remember that people don’t like kids like you. someone calls you a rat and the person who punched them buys you a sandwich. (trust is a bad idea. you know this. it’s a good sandwich, and you’re so, so hungry.) he lets you run off without a fight, but you don’t go without the same dirty looks you always get, either. you find an abandoned treehouse in the forest nearby. not the most pretty, or warm, but it’s enough. (it has to be. you’ll make it enough.)

* * *

your name is tommy, and you think the man who punched the person in town that called you a rat and bought you a sandwich was important. you don’t know why you think this, exactly - you didn’t stick around long enough to get to know him, but he seemed… off. he - well, he seemed to be like you. the symbol on his umbrella (or parasol- you're not sure) reminded you of the one on your backpack, though you didn’t try to draw attention to it in town. there was something in his smile that made him look older, much older than he might say he is. he seemed so oddly familiar, but at the same time, you don’t know his name. (maybe you’ll try to find him if you ever venture into the marketplace again.)

* * *

your name is tommy, and the next time you see phil, he’s leading two others through town. (the seamstress’ son, connor, told you his name when you asked. he said phil had wings, too. you don't see them.) again, you think they might be important. (why does this keep happening? you don’t get it.) ty, connor’s younger brother, mentions something about the people with him - called themselves wilbur and techno, he'd said - showing up together and phil immediately offering them a place to stay. that comes off as odd to you, and from the way connor glances at you, it seems like it’s supposed to be. (you think you’ve heard their names before, in whispers on the street. you take a lucky guess at the symbols.)

* * *

your name is tommy, and you meet wilbur and techno firsthand by chance. you find wilbur at the center of the marketplace, playing music. (you’re not sure why, at first - phil is one of the wealthiest people in town, as you’ve learned - but you think about the money you have in a spare pocket and decide you can’t judge.) you see the key on his belt, and you know he sees your backpack at some point when you walk past. you find techno on your way back to the treehouse when he’s on the trail back from the farms. it’s nearly the same as when you passed wilbur - you see the shovel and he sees your backpack, but neither of you say anything. (you don’t know if any of you wanted to. your lucky guesses for the symbols were more accurate than you’d like to admit.)

* * *

your name is tommy, and three strangers (people like you, not completely strangers, you know their names but they don't know yours-) have been trying to catch you for months now. you've also been avoiding them for months, but you think wilbur might be starting to pick up on the tactics you learned from connor. it’s hard not to spot the yellow sweater moving through a crowd, especially when you're moving in the direction towards the general store. it sucks, really - now you have to try something new, find a different hiding place, and hell knows it’s hard to befriend the local shopkeepers. (you could just let them catch you, but you don't see why you should. if you know anything for sure, it's that life isn't meant to be easy. you’ve been twelve for five years now. you have a good understanding of how your world works.)

* * *

your name is tommy, and you have a friend. he says his name is floris, and that he's fourteen - older than you. (in more ways than just traditional age, he doesn't say.) you don't think he knows that you know he's not entirely like you, even without the wings on his back. you know that phil also has wings. you know that phil puts more of an effort into taking care of his wings than floris does. he just looks tired whenever you bring it up, so at some point you stop pestering him about it. (you make sure to stock up on more bandages, though. you’re not the only clumsy one around now. you think phil takes comfort from that, if the look on his face when floris ran off with you in tow said anything. maybe it was about the wings, though.)

* * *

your name is tommy, and techno found your treehouse. he doesn't see you up in a nearby tree yet, but you know floris came back from hunting and immediately passed out, and you can't help but be scared for him. you want to believe techno won't attack, but you've seen his tusks and, yeah, maybe you're a little scared of his red eyes. it doesn't seem like anything's going to happen, though - techno just looks confused before he leaves. he doesn't see you in the tree, or when you swing back in through a window. you think you're in the safezone for now. (god, you really hope so. you push how techno looked almost… concerned while in your treehouse to the back of your mind.)

* * *

your name is tommy, and you’re definitely not in the goddamn safezone now, because floris is hurt. there’s a bright crimson contrasting the off-white feathers and you realize you have no clue what to do. (you do know. you know there’s only one person who could help. you know you only have one option, here.) you decide in the spur of the moment to go to phil and wilbur and techno. you’d never admit it, especially not to the currently dizzy floris, but you’re scared. you don’t know if phil will want to - or even can - help. you don’t know if you or floris will be safe. (but you knock on his door anyway, because there’s a part of you that so, so badly wants to believe that.)

* * *

your name is tommy, and you’re sitting on the counter in a stranger’s (friend’s?) kitchen. you’re twelve years old and your friend isn’t like you in the way you’ve been twelve for a long time. techno and wilbur and phil are more like you. you’re not friends, but phil smiles at you anyway, and there’s a part of your brain that can’t figure out why. (there’s another part of your brain that wants to smile back.) floris is asleep on the couch, his wing wrapped in red tinged cotton. there’s an umbrella and a key and a shovel stored on the wall and a mug of cocoa in your hands and you feel warmer than you ever did in the treehouse. (it’s still winter.) you glance up and wilbur sends a grin your way while techno rambles about long dead writers. (you feel safer than you’ve ever been since you were eleven.)


End file.
